Finding Home
by Brochelle
Summary: Funny how she'd only known him - what, two days? Alyx wasn't above having brief crushes, but this one was a little ridiculous. Good thing she showed interest, or else Gordon might not have gotten out of Ravenholm alive. Two parter. Gordon/Alyx pairing.
1. Prologue:  Black Mesa East

**Prologue.**

**Black Mesa East.**

* * *

_Suddenly, it clicked._

_Not quietly, either. Not like the muted click of a clock's hands moving with the minute. Not like the subtle click of a snap button. It was the kind of click that came just before the bomb detonated; the click that echoed in the empty chamber, giving her a split second to realize it fully and to prepare. Because suddenly, everything made sense, and it had an effect not quite unlike that of an explosion._

Alyx Vance sat straight up in her bunk and nearly slammed her head into the upper bunk's frame.

Her room was dark. It had been for the last couple of hours. Black Mesa East was characteristically quiet at this hour, nearly every mechanical and electronic object turned off for safety's sake. She couldn't hear the Vortigaunts that had been conversing animatedly outside her quarters; the faint hum of voices that were nearly always present, bleeding as they did through the paper-thin, make-shift rooms, were surprisingly absent. No soft glow leaked from beneath the door, and the moon was gone from the tiny window above her head. No light, sound, or movement.

Complete sensory deprivation.

With a deep sigh, Alyx rested back on her elbows. She'd been laying here in bed for what seemed like forever, letting her thoughts roam free for the first time in days, fading uneasily in and out of consciousness. The cot was uncomfortable and mushy in places (she rather not consider why), the pillow was nearly flattened and, quite frankly, probably wasn't a pillow at all. Maybe the uncomfortable bed had something to do with her insomnia. Or maybe not.

With a core-deep sigh, Alyx full-on collapsed into her pillow and drew the moth-eaten blankets up to her chin.

"So," she muttered aloud, "about Doctor Freeman."

She'd have to admit it - this was a crush. A full-blown, ludicrous, young-adult-novel-esque crush. As cheesy as they came, it seemed. But she realized now that the crush was somewhat more embarrassing than it was an hour ago, before she'd thought about the way she'd acted, which, she confessed, was probably more flirtatious than her usual carefree attitude toward most people.

There had been that smile she gave him - a grin, more like, as she looked him in the eyes and noticed how handsome he actually was - and the whole "Glad to finally meet you" thing. Blatant, shameless flirting. _In the middle of combat_. That second she wasted giving him the googly eyes could have gotten them killed. But at that point in time Alyx had believed that by killing six CP officers right in front of the man that the rebellion treated as the messiah, that he would... what?_ Like _her?

Boy, that sounded ridiculous, and she didn't even have to say it aloud._  
_

...But killing things with such prowess was right up his alley, right?

Yet now she remembered again the look of pain on his face as he donned the HEV suit. The look of mild discomfort and nausea, seemingly from the very concept of having to wear the thing that had helped prevent global catastrophe, and that gave hope to the rebels every day. She had watched in confusion - that wasn't the look a knight gave his faithful armor.

Alyx rolled over onto her side, a physical response to her distress, and stared into the darkness. She knew now that Gordon wasn't a war hero. He was just… a guy. A guy who picked up the tools of the trade along the way. A guy who was taught the orientations of super-charged particles, not the how to reload a revolver. A guy, just like everyone else amongst the rebel forces.

He just happened to be the right man in the wrong place. And luckily, that had made all the difference.

Alyx recalled with a grimace the look of pain on his face when he'd killed that Combine soldier that really had snuck up on them, in the room where they'd first met. Well, maybe not pain. More like… disorientation. Like, _I can't believe I just did that again_. Shock, then? Maybe.

She wondered how he felt about the way she'd treated him.

True, her dad had told her tons of stories about him. Mostly they were work related - "Did I ever tell you about the time Gordon back-talked Dr. Magnusson and got caught?" - but most of the time, they were about the Black Mesa incident.

_"I told him to head up to the surface and get help. I told you that story, didn't I?"_

_"Yes, Dad."_

That story she remembered with a fond smile. Maybe she'd grown up hearing different stories than she recalled now. That is, she'd been told stories - and simply unintentionally "fixed them" until they…

Until they fitted the personality of someone she needed, someone she admired.

Alyx huffed. She thought about wherever Gordon was right now; he was probably wandering the canals, maybe miles (maybe hours) from where she was now. Maybe it would be a whole other day before he even showed up. God, she should have stayed with him. Expecting him to traverse those dangerous canals alone was… well, expectational.

She shook her head in the dark. Her "fixed" stories of Gordon Freeman may be altered, but she was confident he would make it safely back to her.

Alyx wrinkled her nose at that last bit.

Since she was never one to sit still while things could be done, the young Vance swung her legs out from under the covers and planted her feet firmly on the ground. The cold concrete floor stung her exposed skin, but she masked her discomfort with a deep inhalation of the musty, trademark scent of nearly every dwelling she'd been in.

Brushing away the brief trek into her past, Alyx stood and lifting her arms, feeling the air and looking for the wall. She found it - cracked and dusty tarp under her fingers - and followed it until she found the flap that served as a door. She lifted it away and ducked under it.

The halls were lit at intervals with candles, giving the path to her father's lab a sensation that was a little better than sinister. More ritualistic than she liked. But it was light, and the Combine couldn't detect it with their sensors, so it was good enough for her. As long as there were no headcrabs…

Alyx instinctively whipped around, hand at her hip; at the imaginary pistol. Of course, there was no headcrab zombie battalion waiting behind her, but…

"Never take a chance," she muttered. Her lip quirked into a slight smile as she reflected on all the chances she'd taken.

Six Civil Patrol soldiers just for one guy.

The smile grew a little wider.

—

Her dad was still awake. She wasn't surprised in the slightest.

Alyx approached him from behind, trying to step as loudly as possible so as to avoid scaring him when he discovered her presence. He was hunched over one of the many work benches in the lab, his features entirely hidden with his back to her. He had a small, battery-powered lamp firmly taped to the bench's edge, and he made the smallest of movements with his arms - no doubt tinkering with a little, midnight assignment. Surprising him now wouldn't end well for anyone, but stepping loudly was rather difficult, she discovered, especially when the smooth concrete floor sapped every nose her bare feet made.

"Dad?" she spoke, softly.

Eli Vance emitted a brief noise of surprise as he turned around quickly. He had a hand-held welding tool in one hand, a piece of glowing metal in the other. But once he recognized at her, the look of shock - maybe even fear? - melted away into a warming, fatherly smile. He put the tool and the metal piece on the bench and turned to her again. "Sweetheart? Why are you up this late? You should be asleep by now!"

Alyx smiled a little at his concern. Funny how he was so worried about her bedtime hours rather than the fact she'd been fighting a war every day of her life.

Of course, she recognized, there were some things you couldn't quite help.

"I… had a couple questions, Dad. I couldn't wait."

Eli waved a wrinkled, calloused hand at the bench littered with spare bits of wood, some nails, a hammer, and something that glowed softly, its features undetectable in the weak light. "I can understand that," he said with a gentle laugh. "I suppose I should be heading to bed soon enough, too. But what is it? What's bothering you, baby?"

"It's- it's about Gordon, Dad."

Eli was silent momentarily, no doubt studying her face and wondering why she wanted to know about his colleague. Alyx fidgeted with the brace around her wrist. When she was younger, and Barney had just begun teaching her how to shoot a gun and evade Combine police using age-old tactics, she'd fallen from a building (she thought it was closer to the ground than it really was!) and fractured her radius. It probably wouldn't have been as bad if she hadn't tried to hide it from Barney, and avoided medical attention. It had been a prideful decision, made in a stupid effort to impress Barney. The bone had never set right. And now the brace's velcro latches were starting to wear away…

"He's… not like he used to be."

Alyx looked up from her arm and saw that her father was staring off into space, eyes glazed in thought. He turned and pulled a swivel chair from under the bench, then waved in the direction of a stool sitting by the broken teleporter. She retrieved it and brought it back, sitting on it and leaning forward attentively. She crossed her legs and rested an elbow on one knee, supporting her chin with her hand.

"Really?"

Eli exhaled and smiled a little, shaking his head slowly. "Well, for one, he used to appreciate a good joke."

Alyx smiled a little at that.

"He was studious. If he had time to study, he would - for _hours_. It was virtually a catatonic state for the man. But he was a genius. I could never tell if it was from the almost _obsessive _study habits, or if theoretical physics just clicked with him, but either way - he belonged at Black Mesa with a mind like that.

"He wasn't really a loner, you know. If a group happened to be talking about something he knew, he would join in. Not to say he didn't enjoy his own company - not exactly the epitome of a social butterfly - but he was always in the middle of things."

The younger Vance allowed herself a grin. "Okay, I guess I can see that last part," she said humorously. "But he really used to… you know, talk?"

"Definitely," Eli replied. "If you got him started on something he had an opinion on, good luck getting him to shut up."

"Would've never thought."

"Yeah… well, things have changed." His voice faded off, seemingly following his train of thought as he stared at the ground blankly. "I'm no doctor - well, not of the medical sort - but I'm pretty sure he has what we'd call shell shock. Or rather, post traumatic stress syndrome."

"And that means-?"

"I contacted Kleiner and told him to find some anti-anxiety meds somewhere in that labyrinth he calls a lab. Hopefully, he got them to Barney in time before Gordon headed off through the canals."

Alyx bit her lip. "I should have gone back. I should have stayed with him."

She looked up when she felt a placating hand on her shoulder. Eli was staring at her, straight in the eyes, a slight scowl deepening the wrinkles in his forehead and in the corners of his eyes. "Don't say that, honey," he said lowly. "The teleporter malfunctioned. I wasn't about to risk sending you through again and having a repeat of that whole Felix incident."

She wrinkled her nose.

"Alyx, the only thing you should be concerned about is him getting his medication. Gordon's a remarkably resourceful man. But if I'm right about his PTSD, then we'll need to find more of those meds. Times are bad enough without remembering worse ones." Eli stood up, and she stood up with him. "Now, I'm going to finish welding this shell shut, and then I'll head off to bed. But please, get some sleep, darling. You've got a long day tomorrow."

Wrapped in her own thoughts, Alyx managed to return the smile before she headed off to her quarters again. So, she was right. Gordon was as normal as they came - aside from being a science whiz kid. Not a gun-wielding, emotionless warrior. She felt terrible now. He didn't belong here at _all_.

Simply settling on the fact that the emotions in her were a little too chaotic for any final decisions, Alyx tread carefully down the candle-lit halls back to her quarters. She crawled under the covers and curled in on herself, attempting to win back any sensation of warmth she'd ever had. But Black Mesa East was always so cold this time of year, especially at night.

"Hey."

Alyx froze. Someone was speaking from the room over. Sounded like a man. Maybe if she just sat still, the rebel would-

"So what about Doctor Freeman?"


	2. Chapter 1: Ravenholm

**Chapter One.**

**Ravenholm.**

* * *

He sneezed - someone had been talking about him.

Grumbling, the physicist sniffed and rubbed at his nose with his gloved hand. He could feel it in his sinuses - he was coming down with a cold. Sneezing when someone mentioned you was an old wives' tale, superstition - but Gordon Freeman preferred it over the prospect of getting sick.

He sighed explosively, irritated with yet another burden to add to his impressive collection, and watched the cloud of condensed breath drift into the frigid air, soon torn apart by a gust of brisk wind. He shivered under his suit and lay still, listening. Thankfully, nothing had heard his sneeze. That would have been embarrassing if someone - or rather, some_thing_ - had. Being mauled by a zombie just because he didn't have a hankie wasn't exactly what he had in mind when it came to dying.

With a grunt acknowledging the bitter humor, Gordon mused over what exactly constituted as a nice way of dying. A couple days ago (hell, twenty years ago, he realized with a deep frown) he probably would have said a good way to kick the bucket was naturally. Heart failure, dying in his sleep - still sounded like a nice way to go, but these days he would rather be killed by an unseen sniper than slow disembowelment from a blood lusting, bony, skinless zombie-

-He managed to take a shuddering breath.

_He didn't need the meds._

Frowning, Gordon slipped his hand under his glasses and rubbed at his tired eyes. His arm dropped limply to his side, betraying his true weariness, and he slouched against the wall.

The dark of the corridor where he'd settled swallowed up his form completely, which he was both thankful and hateful of. While it sheltered him from the main current of freezing wind that flowed through the streets and around the abandoned buildings, it really wasn't as safe a haven as he would've liked; not to mention the cool cobblestone street was awkward and uncomfortable to sit on, and the corridor echoed with the sound of what he hoped were rats.

Behind him, the full moon was barely visible over the tops of the buildings that surrounded the corridor between apartments, casting a pale and somber glow on everything exposed to it. This was the first chance to see what lurked in the shadows when he wasn't looking, though he wasn't sure if he should be relieved or not; the majority of the night had been a dark and dank affair, with sporadic rain showers and thin fog carpeting the stone streets. Now that the moon was out... he really got to see what went bump in the night.

Gordon shifted and peered around the corner where the corridor began, taking the chance to spot anything that might have followed him. He had been fortunate enough to make it to this point with relatively no difficulties, sneaking past the lazy zombies littering the curbs and street corners. He hadn't had much choice in the matter – he _did _only have a crowbar and a "gravity gun" to defend himself with.

The corner of his lips quirking up in a sign of annoyance, he twisted and surveyed the darkness of the corridor behind him. Hopefully, this path was the right way to go – not that there was any other way to go. Back where the headcrab zombie shuffled, all exits were gated except for the one leading here. So hopefully this was right. If not, he'd have to realize that he was well and truly lost.

His fingers tightened on the brickwork of the corridor's wall as he spotted the outline of something hunched over and limping - one of those nasty, overgrown, walking headcrab mother zombie things. The night was so bright and crisp in this moment of unadulterated calm that even from here he could see the poisonous headcrabs breathing as they clutched to the bygone human's back. It gibbered and grunted to itself, shuffling along in the moon's rays, seeking something unknown - probably food. Probably him.

He really didn't want to fight that.

Thankfully, a fenced-off park was between the zombie and him, so the worst he had to fear was if it noticed him and started tossing headcrabs. He glanced down at his meager supply of weapons and figured it was for the best he stayed quiet until he decided which way to go to find the church. Grigori had been a bit vague on where exactly the church was – while searching for a spire or similar church-esque design, Gordon had discovered most of Ravenholm was designed the same way, with each structure either a factory, a church, or an apartment.

He'd be fine as long as he stayed quiet. Which hadn't been an issue since he stepped off the train. _Man of few words, Alyx had noted._

Gordon leaned his head against the brick wall that he rested against, sighing deeply. He had to get up; had to keep going. Wishing that he could just walk through Ravenholm and get back to the rebels was a fool's action. Something he couldn't afford.

Casting his gaze toward the darkened tunnel, he thought of Alyx's smile.

_It had been a long time since someone had smiled at him like that. If ever. __Funny how things changed, once you went to hell and took a tram back._

Gordon couldn't help a bitter grin as he shook his head. He also couldn't help but wish that Alyx were here right now, if for nothing more than company and a pleasant voice to listen to. But still; wishful thinking. So with a sigh, the physicist dragged himself to his sore feet.

_Okay. Time to get moving._

Standing and taking a moment to listen, Gordon noted some things lacking in the still night air, which unnerved him considerably. The howl of the furious fast zombies had faded into the night, replaced with the eerie silence of a ghost town, accentuated with a haunting groan of the wind whistling through old wood-

_-He didn't need them-_

-and the moon was finally breaking over the rooftops, but the way it lit his path worried Gordon, almost to the point he wished it would start raining again. After all, light meant he could see whatever was chasing after him. Right now, blissful ignorance seemed preferable over... well, that over there.

He faced the dark corridor and frowned slightly. He wasn't in a rush to use his flashlight, since the battery drained as quickly as a colander filled with water. The suit allowed for extra adrenaline to be pumped into his system using the same source of power as the flashlight's battery, so if he used the flashlight now and needed to run, he'd be screwed over. Shrugging, Gordon fumbled for the gravity gun. He could always just use the light from the glowing orange core; not exactly a great source of lighting, but it would have to do.

Tucking the crowbar into the crook of his arm, he tried to find means of carrying the bulky tool, but it just wasn't meant to be carried that way. Lifting his arm, he supposed he could carry it like those macho machine gun turret guys -

Suddenly, the crowbar slipped from his arm and dropped.

It hit the cobblestone flooring and the harsh ring of metal on stone exploded like a gunshot down the corridor. The sound echoed and rang and burst through the darkness for what felt like minutes until eventually, it mingled with the sudden gust of wind rushing past him and dispersed.

Ravenholm seemed to inhale sharply, like a mother discovering her child was spying on her.

Gordon froze. It felt like his heart had leapt into his throat; he could feel the drumbeat pulse of blood pounding in his ears. He could feel the wind breathing in his rain-soaked hair, then flowing past him and down the darkened corridor. At the end of the shaft, he could see the other street, but nothing moved to that entrance - he wasn't sure if that was a good or bad sign.

Nothing appeared after several moments. He was gradually aware of Ravenholm's crypt-like silence sliding back into place. Realizing he'd stopped breathing, he gasped, desperately trying to intake the cold air as quietly as possible. The air stung his lungs, which were already raw from the running he'd done all night, and the resulting discomfort was enough to make him want to run and hide in a corner. Goddammit, he needed to get a hold of himself. Freaking out in the middle of zombie central wasn't going to get things done.

He paused, stopping to listen. Was that a zombie? Had he heard a scream?

There wasn't a follow up (there always was, he had learned) so maybe something wasn't coming. He was probably just overreacting. His heartbeat settled down as he bent over, the hand not clutching the gravity gun in a death grip searching the floor for the crowbar. Gordon stood up straight and glared at the tool.

_Supposed to be saving my life, not dooming it._

He squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on calming down. The last thing he needed (aside from a cold) was to lose complete control of whatever calm he already had. Whatever calm that hadn't been torn apart by the agonized screams of burning zombies, the blood smeared on the walls, the bodies scorched beyond recognition. Shaking his head in an attempt to force those thoughts from his mind, he brought a hand to his forehead and sighed in frustration.

_I thought the idea was ****__not__ to go to Ravenholm._

A zombie howled in the distance, far enough that he was safe but close enough to incite frigid fear. Gordon shook his head. Calm was what he needed, but what was it Barney had said?

_God, he couldn't even remember. Take those anti-anxiety pills and he'd be fine, right?_

He ran out of them sometime after he shot down the Hunter chopper, back at the canals. He remembered searching for the container before realizing that it'd bounced out of the boat after a particularly close call with a floating bomb. Before he'd left Black Mesa East, hadn't Alyx gotten him another bottle? She must have - he remembered her joking about them not being "like those chewy vitamin things you took as a kid".

She had suggested he tuck them away in a revolver's holster as a way of carrying them securely. It had seemed like a rather entertaining solution; he remembered smiling at her as he fastened the holster to the side of his suit.

Alyx had replied with a warm smile and nothing else.

Gordon pawed at his side, searching for the holster in the dark. It was on his right, wasn't it? He was right-handed, so that would, of course, be the logical solution, but it wasn't there. Maybe he'd put it on the left side.

He felt his left side frantically. It wasn't there, either. Twisting on the spot, he hoped to maybe see it in the moonlight – it could have fallen from his hip while he was sitting there, getting his bearings. But it wasn't there either.

Gordon felt his heart rate quicken. He needed those meds. It was what kept him relatively calm during the escape through the canals; what kept him rational when he witnessed the brutal murders of the civilians by the CP. He remembered when he had been hunted by the officers, stumbling along the terra cotta rooftops, bullets zipping over his shoulder, feeling like he was being hunted – feeling like something blind and defenseless. He didn't want to feel that way again.

Especially not _here_.

Gordon put a glove to his forehead and let his shoulders drop. He could do this. He just had to keep going – that was it. He… he didn't _need _the meds. He could do just fine if he just ignored it.

Just… ignored it.

Straightening his back, the physicist forced the thoughts to the back of his mind and focused on the end of the tunnel. He lifted the gravity gun and pressed the primary trigger, as if he were trying to grab an object. Since there was nothing to actually grab onto, the core emanated a soft, rich orange glow, flooding through the darkness and casting a pool of faint light around him.

With a glance back toward the pure moonlight, Gordon faced the smothering darkness and started running.

* * *

His suit shuffled awkwardly and the gun was heavy in his hands, but Gordon maintained the steady jog, anxious to get out of the dark and into the street. Contrary to the entrance of the corridor, here the air stood still, lingering and heavy, thick with the scent of dust and mildew.

_No allergies, no allergies, no allergies - please no allergies_, Gordon repeated in his head as he sprinted. Now was definitely not the time to have allergies, not here at all.

He reached the corridor's exit breathless and wheezing. The languid air of the tunnel gave way to the wintry, fluctuating breeze of Ravenholm proper as he slowed to a stop in the center of the street beyond. The surprising change of temperature felt exhilarating; the sweat across his brow, under his eyes, and at the back of his neck suddenly chilled and he exhaled, allowing his breath to escape him.

The moon was gone again, consumed by the low-lying clouds and smoke. From here, Gordon could see that the street led from a lonely doorway to the right to an open courtyard to his left, completely abandoned. Smaller streets split off from the main one he stood on, their pathways obscured by the close-knit brick houses that lined the cobblestones. The street itself gradually sloped downward - he was standing at the top of a hill. Catching his breath, Gordon moved his head and tried to see if any zombies awaited him. No bodies littering the street, no fast zombies clambering around on the roofs – maybe this path was both safe _and _the right way to the church.

He inhaled and was welcomed with the stench of burning flesh.

Gordon wasn't sure if he was disturbed more by the fact that somewhere, a person was on fire, or that he knew what that smelled like. Nonetheless, he felt his heart rate increase as paranoia set in. Sweeping the gravity gun across his field of vision, he wrinkled his nose and started to back up, trying to find what was cooking before it found him.

After a few steps his back collided with something that made a small grunt of surprise. Whipping around, Gordon brought his gravity gun to bear - and found himself face to face with a headcrab zombie.

The headcrab itself, latched on to the civilian's head, was bloated and still, its disturbing lack of normal activity giving it the illusion of being inebriated, simply by being in contact with its host's head. The tips of its four claws twitched occasionally, like a sleeping dog having a bad dream. Its brownish, bloodstained hide seemed like heavily textured human skin, but riddled with bumps and scars. The civilian itself was of indeterminable sex, wearing a simple white, long-sleeved shirt and jeans. The white shirt only seemed to accentuate the dried blood encrusting the shoulders and chest, which cracked and fell away in flakes as the zombie raised its arms.

Gordon stumbled away from it as it swiped at him with its distended fingers. The crowbar nearly fell from his hand as he struggled to evade the wild slashes the zombie made at him, grunting and growling all the while. Acknowledging he was in no place to fight, Gordon managed to turn around and force his tired legs to _run._

_There was that sensation again. Pure fear. His heart jumped into his throat as he sprinted for the courtyard ahead. He could see boxes lining the wall that framed the courtyard - maybe if he jumped those he could make his way on top of the wall. It looked like that priest - what was his name? Grigori? - had constructed one of his many walkways and supply caches up above the wall's ledge. If he could just - get - there -_

The scream of a fast zombie alerted Gordon that he was being hunted a split second before it slammed into his back, with enough force to drive him into the cobblestones. His threw his arms out to stop the fall and in the process lost the gravity gun and the crowbar, both objects tumbling beyond reach. Before his head collided with the rim of the HEV suit's helmet socket around his neck, he could glimpse the bloodied forms of even _more zombies trundling out of the shadows to his right._

_Dammit._

His glasses knocked askew and the clarity of his vision abruptly traded with smudges and blurs, the physicist panicked. Gordon instinctively rolled to the left as soon as he stopped skidding across the stones just in time to avoid the fast zombie as it lashed out. He kicked out in the direction of the zombie but it was all blurry because -

_His glasses._

_A mistake. He'd made a mistake. Where were his glasses?_

Gordon was grabbing at the cobblestones, seeking out something - _anything. Zombies groaned and muttered mere inches from where he was sprawled on the ground, but he couldn't hear the fast one anymore. __Oh god, oh god - he needed to find his-_

His pounding heart nearly burst out of his chest when his glove touched something that resembled his glasses' frames. He grabbed them and slipped them over his face so quickly they almost fell again.

_Just in time to see-_

The fast zombie screeched at him, knocked from its stupor - _had his foot really made contact? - its inhuman voice filled with a mix of pain and fury. It threw out its spindly arms and it bent at the knees, a split second from pouncing on him and bring about his end in a way that definitely did not constitute as nice - __dammit it was just like Black Mesa all over again - but then thunder crashed and the zombie's head exploded._

Gordon blinked down in shock as the lifeless body unexpectedly crumpled to the ground. What he now realized had been a gunshot oscillated through the air, eventually fading and mingling with the blood rushing in his ears. He gulped and looked at the other zombies, who also seemed similarly surprised. Or at least, as surprised as any faceless zombie could be surprised.

Yet more gunshots rang out, each blast taking down another zombie until nothing but Gordon stood in the courtyard. Feeling the pounding of his blood fading away and his calm returning, he looked skyward. A sole figure stood on the rooftop of the building at the top of the hill, shotgun in hand, smoke from the double barrels slowly fading in the night. As he focused, he realized it was Grigori.

"What are you doing here, brother? The church is on the other side of town!"

His rich, Russian-accented voice carried easily on the wind. Still in shock from the zombie attack, Gordon could only offer a shrug, which Grigori probably couldn't even see.

"Correct your ways, brother, before it is too late!"

Grigori lifted his arm and gestured to Gordon's right, back toward the way he had come. "That way, quickly! You have awoken the others!"

With that, the priest shouldered his shotgun and disappeared down the other side of the roof, hopefully on his way to the church. Shaking his head, Gordon moved to pick up the gravity gun and the crowbar. He couldn't go back down the corridor, and certainly couldn't afford to fight the neurotoxin headcrab zombie on the other side of the fence. Maybe the rooftops were a better option – as long as no fast zombies showed up.

With a sigh, Gordon headed toward the boxes lining the brick wall surrounding the courtyard. He used the gravity gun to pile them up and soon he was making his way to the wooden bridge that would take him to the roof. _See_, he thought, breathing heavily as he forced himself to calm, _I don't need those meds. I'll be fine._

Another set of wooden planks took him over the courtyard and to the next set of buildings across the street. Medical supplies were piled up next to a wooden chair that looked a little worse for wear, and under the chair sat two boxes of shotgun shells.

Which would've been useful if he'd managed to hold onto that shotgun Grigori had given him an hour ago, instead of dropping it in a shipping container full of water.

Gordon leaped from the ledge that the chair sat on and landed heavily on the next rooftop. He went in the direction he'd last seen Grigori, hoping that maybe he could find a way to scale the building and reach the roof. If not, it looked like there was a catwalk up ahead that lead into a window of another warehouse. With luck he could shorten the remainder of his journey by sticking to rooftops and top floors; though knowing his luck, no such thing would happen.

As he slowly jogged up yet another walkway bridging the gap between buildings, Gordon mused over what Barney had told him. In his experience (which was limited to World War I documentaries and Vietnam War movies) PTSD usually meant the person inflicted could remember a traumatic event at any moment, usually triggered by an event that could be considered relatively normal. Or at least, that's how the movie had shown it.

True, the first day he had been in City 17 (which he had spent the better half of fleeing CP officers on the rooftops) he had faced brief lapses of absolute terror, brought on simply by comparing the situation to Black Mesa. He had been incapable of rational thought; nothing else had mattered aside from getting the hell away from everything. He was suddenly scared of falling off the buildings (though he had never been afraid of heights) and when six officers had attacked him on all sides, he thought he was going to die first from the rate his heart was beating.

He might have died before the officers even laid a finger on him, if Alyx hadn't come storming in.

The memory of _that _didn't bring on a sudden bout of terror; it actually made him smile a little.

He stopped jogging, having reached the spot where he could jump across the gap that separated the buildings and land on the catwalk. Gordon backed up a few steps, then took a running leap, sailing over the gap and landing with a _hmph! _upon the grating.

It creaked ominously under his bulk.

Gasping silently, he leaped for the window as the catwalk collapsed and tumbled to the cobblestones below, crashing loudly. He managed to toss the gravity gun through the window before the ground disappeared from right under him, and the hand that had held the gun now clutched to the window sill while his legs swung wildly about as he looked for a foothold. Panic gripping him, Gordon brought his other arm up and tossed his crowbar into the room beyond the window.

He twisted about until his chest bumped against the building, slowly dragging himself through the window. The suit whined about elevated stress levels and his muscles silently conveyed the same, but he persisted until he was inside the window. Allowing himself to fall to the ground limply, Gordon groaned in a mixture of pain and exasperation.

A few moments of blissful silence passed. The wooden floor was smooth from age and cool from the air flowing through the open window, offering a pretty decent spot to rest his cheek as he lay motionless on the floor.

Agonizingly slowly, Gordon brought his legs inside the room, as they had been dangling outside the window when he had collapsed on the floor face-first. He lay on the floor with the grace of a dead man before eventually rolling to his side and gradually pulling himself into a sitting position.

The suit beeped in affirmative as it began pumping a small amount of morphine into his bloodstream, attempting to ease his burning muscles. Gordon let his head roll back until it rested against the wall, content to let the suit do what it did before he did anything more.

So here he was – nearly mirroring where he had been a half-hour ago, in the dark of the corridor two floors below him. He'd managed to achieve a more thorough grasp on his PTSD (and how he really, really wanted those meds now) and a better idea of Ravenholm geography (though he wasn't sure when that would come in handy again). Nonetheless, here he was… again.

_He should probably get going_.

Sighing for what felt like the umpteenth time that night, Gordon hauled himself to his feet and searched for the gravity gun and his crowbar. Both had managed to bury themselves under the cardboard boxes that littered the room and upon locating them he gave them both a disappointed scowl.

The only door in the room was locked. Wrinkling his nose at the door, he hefted the crowbar above his head and brought it slamming down on the door's handle. He was rewarded with the sound of wood breaking – someone had tried blockading the door with a chair under the handle. Trying to lock something in? Before opening the door, Gordon glanced around the room. Nothing but cardboard boxes and stained newspapers. With a shrug, he turned again and shoved the door with his shoulder. It opened easily and sent him stumbling through the threshold unexpectedly, right into the waiting arms of an equally confused zombie.

Gordon made a silent noise of protest and tore himself away from the creature. The zombie in question growled in annoyance, raising its bloodied arms to bring shattered fists crashing down on his head. He dodged the blow and ducked back through the doorway, grabbed the handle, slammed it shut, essentially in the zombie's face.

Gordon backed away from the door until he touched the wall. He was breathing heavily and he could feel his blood pounding in his ears from the sheer shock of being that close to the zombie.

_Oh God. He'd never been like this before. Sure, he'd gotten scared before – who didn't during an alien invasion – but these past few days had taught him a whole new kind of scary._

The zombie on the other side of the door thumped its fists against the door angrily, trying to force its way in. Gordon couldn't even comprehend the concept of using the crowbar against something that, despite being noticeably controlled by an alien parasite, was so clearly _still human. _Aliens were one thing-

-_or were they?-_

-but these were different. Things so blatantly animal – like the fast zombies – were along the lines of something he was willing to take the life of in order to save his own. But…

The zombie continued its off-rhythm beat against the door.

_But what?_

Where did he draw the line between "okay to kill" and "not okay to kill"? Wasn't the first law of _everything _"do not kill"? With a groan of frustration, Gordon reached up and removed his glasses and placed them on the crest of his head. He rubbed at his eyes with both hands like he was trying to wake himself from a horrific dream.

He sighed and his hands dropped from his face. Gordon wondered whether this had to do with the PTSD or if was just… him.

He just didn't even know anymore.

Gordon stared blankly at the door as it shuddered under the zombie's blows. The zombie outside howled in distress, and several more answered it within the warehouse below. Gordon let his head fall in resignation. _Now what_.

Suddenly, there was a muted crack, and the zombie fell silent.

Gordon's head whipped up and stared at the door, willing it to stay shut. He could hear other zombies making their way from the floor below to the hall outside the room, grunting and moaning and bumping against the walls like drunk college kids on their way back from a party.

Louder than the approaching zombies were the gunshots blasting just beyond the door. Someone was standing in the hall and gunning down the horde – was it Grigori? The shots sounded like a pistol or some other small-arms fire, rather than the thunderclap blast of the priest's trademark shotgun. Neither murmured sermons nor holy exclamations could be heard - as they usually were – over the gunshots. Could this be someone else?

Fearing that this newcomer would try to break through the door, Gordon rose to his feet and quietly made his way across the room. He leaned against the door in an attempt to act as a blockade to keep it from opening until he realized the door opened from the outside.

…The situation would have been funny if the threat of dying didn't lie on the other side of the door.

Pressing an ear against the splintered, wooden door, Gordon couldn't hear the zombies. He did, however, hear the click of an ammo clip being reloaded and a small _hmm_ of satisfaction.

Gordon's chest tightened and his eyes widened as he realized who was standing in the hall.

An instant later, she knocked on the door, beating a tune into the wood.

_Shave and a haircut…_

Raising his fist hesitantly, Gordon returned the gesture with two gentle taps.

…_Two bits._

He stepped away from the door and it opened slowly, creaking on its hinges. A gloved hand reached in and grabbed the edge of it, guiding it open until she could slip inside. Quietly, Alyx Vance closed the door.

She turned and welcomed him with a warm smile.

"Fancy meeting you here," she said, her voice soft but still retaining an obvious note of amusement.

He felt a smile grow slowly, but he couldn't quite send the same warmth hers did. The sensation of happiness he should have been feeling just drained away and he could feel it reflected in his smile as it turned back into a frown.

Thankfully, Alyx didn't seem to notice. She simply scowled and reached up to touch his forehead. Her hand came away tinged with blood. His blood.

"Oh, you've got a cut on your forehead. We should treat that before we leave." She grabbed his arm and gently pulled him toward the open window. The clouds had cleared again, and the moon now shone bright and uninhibited, serving as a natural flashlight for Alyx as she opened her backpack and started taking out medical supplies.

Gordon sat on the floor and waited patiently, taking the moment to wonder over how she had gotten here. She was wearing a thick, hooded parka instead of her usual leather jacket, but essentially she was dressed the same as earlier. Her pistol was in a holster at her hip, jostling around as she searched through the backpack. She didn't look injured or hassled in any way, almost as though she had just walked through Ravenholm to get here.

"The priest told me how to get here," she murmured. Kneeling down, she rested on her haunches and gave him a tiny smile as she unwrapped a packet of gauze. "He's an… interesting character. I asked him if he happened to see a man pass through earlier, and he told me if I cut through the warehouse I would probably meet you."

Gordon smiled a little. Alyx dipped the corner of the gauze into a small container full of what he assumed was anti-bacterial salve, then leaned forward and started dabbing at the wound on his forehead. He tried not to acknowledge how much is stung.

Alyx reached over and grabbed the bag, rooting around inside for something. Bringing out a water canteen and another packet of gauze, she prepared to soak the gauze. Once it was thoroughly drenched, she brought the gauze to his forehead and proceeded to clean away any excess blood.

Gordon noticed how she looked older when she was focused. He still wasn't used to how old she was now, but she looked younger when she smiled at him. It was still unsettling.

"My dad got taken," Alyx muttered under her breath. "The vortigaunts said he probably wasn't hurt, but I don't think that'll be true for very long. I hate to – I hate to think what the Combine will do to him."

She quieted and sat back, dropping the bloodied gauze on the floor. Putting a hand to her forehead, she shook her head in sadness. "I don't know what happened to the others at Black Mesa East. The vortigaunts told me I had to get to you, before it was too late, or something. Maybe they managed to keep the Combine off; I don't know."

Suddenly she looked older and incredibly tired. Gordon realized that this war was her life; she'd never known anything else. She'd never gone to school with other kids, never went on camping trips or had big birthday parties or anything.

Gordon sighed.

"I talked to my dad a couple nights ago and… I know. About the PTSD, I mean."

He looked up sharply. Had Eli been the one to tell Kleiner and Barney? How had he figured it out?

Then again, suffering from post-traumatic stress was probably a given after… well, Black Mesa.

"I made sure to grab some extra meds before I left. Figured you'd need them."

She reached for the bag again and pulled a small box labeled "Altoids" from its depths. "Enough in here to keep you going until we get back to safety. The priest said that he could take us to the mines that lead back to City 17, and from there we meet up with the underground railroad circuit in that district. We'll take the trains to Nova Prospekt."

He accepted the mint container full of pills with a nod of thanks while staring at her intently, trying not to look too puzzled. Nova Prospekt, from what he'd gathered, was not a place he wanted to be. Alyx would assume he knew about it – which he didn't – and he wasn't sure how to explain the whole time travel thing without sounding insane.

Alyx looked troubled as she glanced out the open window Gordon had fallen through.

"It used to be a high security prison, but it's something much worse now. We're going to get my dad out. Do whatever it takes."

Gordon looked at Alyx in time to see determination harden her features. Reaching out, he put a hand on her shoulder, waiting until she turned to look at him.

A lot of things had changed in the past few days. The world, namely, but so had the people. Barney was older; gray streaked his black hair and the bags under his eyes were more prominent than the nights he had the night shift. Kleiner looked like he had aged forcefully, which wouldn't surprise Gordon given the circumstances. And Eli – Eli had gone from a fatherly figure to a grandfatherly figure. The way he talked, the white in his beard, the kindness of his words – everything. And the world? The world was now completely controlled by the very aliens he had tried to escape twenty years ago. People were corralled into districts and treated like sheep on their way to the slaughterhouse. Masked guards stood on every corner, patrolled every street, and watched over every house – it seemed like there were more guards than people.

He had changed too. Now he was scared of the shadows, and every time he tried to speak, no sound came. Gordon knew how to reload a shotgun and smash zombies to death, when a mere week ago – twenty _years _ago – he didn't even know how to microwave a casserole properly.

Gordon offered Alyx a smile and attempted to convey his message in that minute gesture, but he felt like he was trying to convince himself more than her. _It__'__s __going__ to__ be__ okay.__We__'__ll__ get __him__ in__ time. __Everything__ will__ be__ all__ right_.

She smiled gently at him, and then looked back out the window. "We should get going."

Gordon slowly stood. Alyx tossed him the water canteen and he took the meds, ignoring the nagging voice in the back of his head that told him he didn't need them. For right now, as long as Alyx was here, he could do this.

"We can do this," Alyx said as she moved to the door, unholstering her pistol and checking the clip. "Just stick with me, okay?"

She turned to look at him. He nodded; it was all he could do, all he could say.

_They__ could__ do__ this_.

* * *

**A/N: I spent way too much time on this last chapter. This is more than I've ever written for a chapter, ever. I'm not entirely pleased with the result, but let me know!  
**


End file.
